Seven Months
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: It took far too long to find him. But they did. Not that they made it back out with him. Nate's caught, locked up with Eliot, and Parker's trapped. Eliot's gonna have to take a lot of hits to get them out of this one. Warnings: whump, torture, implied non-con
1. Twist of Fate

It took far too long to find him. You'd think that the seemless crew, including a legendary grifter, the world's best thief, a brilliant hacker, and an untouchable mastermind, could do it easily. A call here, online tracking there, some planning, and the execution should be enough. Just like a routine con.

Only it wasn't a routine con. They were down a member.

Eliot was taken. He was just gone one day. It was no mistake; he'd never just leave, and he wasn't just taken out by an old enemy. He'd never go down without a show.

So they knew it was probably someone that wanted either revenge or a profit. Likely both. Still, he wasn't put up for auction as far as they knew, and no country suspiciously took down their bounty on his head, so this may be personal.

That was not good news.

By the time that they found where he must be being held, months had passed by. Of course they'd taken small jobs along the way, but finding their hitter was always their main focus. It all paid off when Hardison linked together some seemingly unconnected events. Nate never even asked how he did it.

He was being held in war-torn Syria, below the estate of a notorious warlord. The warlord was a man like Damien Moreau - in fact, his close friend - but a criminal with more of a taste for destruction than style. His name was Jalal Akbhan.

The team orchestrated a plan before they left. It would take a lot of work and time to pull this off.

Unfortunately, they didn't pull it off.

Once inside, they were caught. Well, not all of them. Just Nate, who had the most exposed part to play. When the con went to all hell, he went down without a fight. Parker was trapped inside, but safe, relatively speaking. Hardison was at the safe house, running damage control, and Sophie just made it out before her cover was blown, too.

It was a sick twist of fate that Nate was thrown into the same cell as their long lost hitter.

The mastermind was shoved inside and chained at the wall on the opposite side of the room. When the men left, he inspected his new restraints. He was manacled at the wrists, the chains of which were built into the wall.

Now, he looked up at his still teammate.

Eliot was crumpled up in a heap. His hands were chained, too, but there was also a heavy iron collar around his neck, also chained to the wall. His chains were shorter and thicker than Nate's. He'd probably broken out of the first few restraints he'd had.

The wounds beneath the iron were what startled Nate. There were too many to count. Many were already scars. Sickening, debilitating marks left on the once clear and tightly muscled body, now emaciated, pale, and marred. Nate almost couldn't believe it. How could Eliot have been captured and held, carved into like that? How was the world's best retrieval specialist taken down?

The mastermind could no longer let his shocked mind spin on the sight before him. He had to work on a way out.

"Eliot?" He called. "Eliot, wake up."

The hitter didn't stir, but someone did. The cell door was thrown open and four men burst in, yelling in Arabic. They stood around Nate, demanding something of him. Damn. Sterling had always been the one for the harsher languages while Nate had preferred Italian.

Now, Eliot jolted. His breath hitched and his eyes opened. They shot around the scene, and rather than relief or confusion, rage burned in them when he saw Nate. Without missing a beat, he yelled something in Arabic. The men turned on him and laughed. One strode forward, knelt, and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his glare. The man holding him in place said something that made the hitter pale. Eliot responded, glancing at Nathan.

The man chuckled, whispered something in his ear, then left with the others. Nate waited until the door was locked before he spoke again.

"What was that?"

Eliot settled back gingerly against the cold stone wall.

"Eliot."

The hitter lifted his gaze to meet Nate's. He looked tired.

"Talk to me."

The bone-weary man shrugged. "Why?"

Eliot's voice sounded weird. He had an accent.

Eliot rolled his eyes when he saw Nate's confusion. "Yeah, my voice is gonna sound funny. Ain't spoken English in a while. Forgot the feeling." There was no hint of accusation in his tone, but Nate flinched.

"We meant to find you sooner. It took months to-"

"Get yourselves locked up in a warlord's dungeons?" His eyes darkened. "You get them killed, Nate?"

"No. Parker's trapped, but the others are safe."

Eliot didn't look any less... angry? Disgruntled? Anxious?

"Right. And you thought coming here was a good idea because...?"

Nate raised his eyebrows. "We had to come for you."

"Shouldn'a. Damn it," The hitter winced when his voice cracked. His throat must have been unbearably dry to make his voice hoarse like that. "Damn it, Nate, you should'a protected 'em. I can't do that anymore. With you out of the picture too, how's Parker gonna get out?" Eliot narrowed his eyes. "They're all going down, comin' for us."

"Don't pull the lone wolf act, you know we had no other choice."

"We're criminals, Nate!" Eliot barked. "If there's anything they can do, it's to get over it."

"And you're so rational, hmm?"

"Only reason I'm alive." Eliot replied quietly.

"Right. So, what happened when they came in, what did they say?"

"Nothing important."

"I need to know everything to figure out a plan."

"It was just threats, nothing you could use."

"And yet I'm the one that leads a team. I have to know everything."

"You know what? I'm tired of demands. I can do my job. Hell, I've been doing it since I got here. So get off your high horse, Nate, and pick a side. You wanna risk the team and order me around, go out and pick up an AK-47 with them. Otherwise, let me be."


	2. Living in a Nightmare

Eliot passed out soon after that. At this point, he never fell asleep, his body just shut down. He still had dreams, though, which Nate soon learned.

An hour or so after Eliot's body went limp and his breathing evened out, Nate was no longer paying attention to him. The mastermind was looking around the cell, recalling plans and blueprints, and trying to hear when guards passed the cell. That's why he didn't notice the sounds at first.

When the hitter cried out softly, his cellmate blinked from his rumination and looked over. Eliot was shaking. His breathing was shallow and quick, interrupted by small gasps and grunts. His brow was furrowed, studded with beads of sweat, and his back was slightly arched. He looked like he was in pain.

Or reliving it. It was a nightmare.

Eliot jerked and whispered something in Arabic. Another jolt, and he said it again, louder. It was a sentence, the same one. The next time, he said it loud enough that it rang out. Nate began trying to call his name to wake him up, but he was deep in the throes of his nightmare. With one more yell, their captors burst in again.

They were angry. Eliot was still out of it, trembling. He only woke when he was kicked in the chest. The hitter coughed and opened his eyes, which moved up to the faces of the men above him. He moved back and tried to sit up, but a boot met his chest and pushed down, forcing him to the ground with a grunt. The man holding him down, the same one that had grabbed his chin and kicked him, asked him something. Eliot shook his head and began to speak, but the boot was ground heavily into his cracked ribs, and he wheezed. The man asked again, more slowly and dangerously, and Eliot replied shortly. Now the man was speaking and gesticulating. Eliot opened his mouth again, but the boot just dug into his ribs to keep him quiet. The Syrian turned to Nate, speaking to him. When Nate didn't respond, he growled, heading toward the mastermind.

Eliot yelled the same thing he had in his nightmare. The man laughed and replied, stilling in the center of the room.

"You'll get what you wanted, Nate. I'm supposed to tell you what he says to you."

"That'll be helpful," Nate said, keeping a wary eye on the Syrian.

The man spoke, then nodded to Eliot.

"He wants to know where your partner is. He says, you couldn't have made it that far in, alone."

Parker. "Tell him the truth, I don't know."

Eliot translated it to Arabic, relaying the information.

The Syrian yelled and stormed at Nate, grabbing him by the neck. Eliot yelled at him, but the man didn't stop.

Nate could see the gears turning in the hitter's head. He was calculating what he had to do to save his teammate, because, clearly, the Syrian didn't believe Nate. The mastermind was dispensable.

Eliot looked resigned and yelled something else, which caught the man's attention. Nate was released, choking, and the Syrian returned to the weary hitter. He was unchained from the wall and dragged out.


	3. Shapes in the Dark

**A/N: Hello dear readers! Poor Eliot just never gets a break, huh? And, boy, I wish Nate would just let him rest! But that's not his job. He has to get them out of there. Maybe they can start listening to each other soon, hmm?**

 **I am having a lot of fun with this story. I don't know much Arabic, but having a language that one character doesn't know - Nate - lets me have Eliot and the bad guys speak it without letting you know what they're saying. It leaves some of the dialogue open-ended so** ** _you_** **can decide what's happening. If you want to know what** ** _I_** **think they're saying, PM me and I'll tell you! If anyone wants to** ** _see_** **the Arabic instead of me just saying "He said something", you can PM me about that too. I think it's less distracting to keep it as it is, but this is for you, not for me, so have at it!**

 **Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following - I appreciate it very much.**

Nate was alone for a long time. It must have been a few hours. He wondered what had been said; what Eliot had said, given up, so Nate wouldn't die. His first day trapped here, and the mastermind was already threatened with death.

How in hell had Eliot survived this long?

Anyway, Nate let himself sleep. He'd probably need it. When he woke up, he was still alone. It wasn't too much later, though, that he heard people in the corridor outside. It sounded like something was being dragged.

The door opened and two men dragged in an unconscious Eliot. They chained him back up and kicked him once more before leaving. Nate didn't even have time to call out to him before the hitter was conscious. His eyes were glazed over and his breathing erratic. When he saw the dark form of someone else in the cell, he scrambled back into his corner.

"Eliot, it's me, Nate. Can you hear me?"

The hitter inhaled deeply and held the breath before slowly releasing it. "Yeah."

He was still huddled up in the corner, his eyes closed.

"What happened?"

"Ain't doin' this, Nate."

Nate nodded. He'd expected him to deflect the query. "You saved my life."

"S'my job."

"You didn't have to do that."

"You can't die here."

Nate paused. "What?"

"You, you're smart, helpin' people, got a family. You don't belong here. You have to get out."

"What, and you do belong here? I don't work insurance anymore, Eliot. We're both criminals."

"No. We're not the same. You're still planning a way out. Fixing the con. Calculating your next move. You thought you could just come here, run a con, and sneak me out? Your only concern with your job is having the tables turned on you. There's always another way out, a new plan. Thieves, grifters, hackers, they get in, get out, and if they're caught, they're arrested. What did you think happened to hitters?"

"You have a team now, it's different."

"It's never different!" Eliot show back. "This is the job! Hitters take hits, dodge when we can, but we go down eventually. We're not arrested or shot. We're broken down. Interrogated. Locked away and..."

"Tortured?"

Eliot looked up. "It's what I do. I can't have a team, can't drag 'em down with me."

"This isn't your first time in a place like this, is it?"

Eliot snorted. "Do y'all really think I'm new to this? I'm old, shouldn'a ever made it this one too many cells. Akbhan, he's with Moreau. This is personal. I was never gonna make it outta this one."

"So you're giving up."

The hitter's eyes flared. His voice was low and dangerous. "I been here seven months. Every day, I tried to get out. Every time I pulled something, they..." He shook his head. "Price is too high."

"I thought nobody could make you quit this team."

"Damn it, Nate!" Eliot was getting breathless. He hunched over a bit, one arm wrapped around his chest. "This ain't a game." His breaths just couldn't pull in enough oxygen. "I'm givin' it to ya straight. Jus'... plan what ya like, but... can't change..." He was gasping now.

"Eliot!"

The hitter squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward more, still clutching his chest. He uttered what Nate assumed to be a curse in Arabic. Eliot tried to curl in on himself more, which only further compressed his lungs.

"Eliot, you have to calm down. Give your lungs room to expand."

The suffocating man spluttered, "Can't... h-hurts."

"Do you trust me?"

Eliot didn't answer.

"Fine. We're still running the con to get you out. That means you're on the job. Will you do what I say?"

"Y-yes."

"Then stop breathing."

The hitter complied halfway through a gasp. He looked up at Nate, waited until the mastermind nodded, then breathed quickly for a second. Then he held his breath again. The cycle continued until he could breathe well enough without guidance.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Panic attack?" Nate asked casually.

"Happens. Broken ribs are a bitch to breathe with... sometimes it's too much."

"What did they do when you were gone?"

"Mind yer own business."

"It is my business because you're on my team."

"You're my boss, not my friend."

"Right, 'cause you've got so many of them."

Eliot rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around his stomach. He couldn't lie down without passing out from the pain of moving, so he just inched back to lean into the corner.

"You should tell me what you know about the layout of this place, the guard schedule, and the daily routine." Nate pointed out when he saw Eliot close his eyes.

The hitter growled. "Nate, I just took hours of torture to save your ass. Least you can do is let me get some sleep."

 **A/N: What do you want to see happen? Who wants another chapter?**


	4. Fighter

Of course, Eliot wasn't going to sleep. He couldn't. He just sat still, eyes closed and breathing slowed. He was meditating.

That's why he jumped when the door opened.

It didn't slam open like it did when the men entering were working under orders. There were only two men and they were quiet and efficient. They went straight for the hitter.

Nate could tell that something was off. They were acting like they were doing something below the radar. One knelt, grabbed Eliot by the neck, and leaned in to whisper something. Eliot shook his head fervently, but the man just stood to the side while the other unlocked the restraints. While Eliot was free of the iron (except for the collar, which was never removed,) he tried to fight back. Desperately. His hands were forced behind his back and cuffed, but he kept fighting, trying to kick and shove and bite. He was punched in the face; when he bared his bloody teeth, he was hit more. In the struggle, he almost twisted out of their hands. The one holding him was so enraged that he grabbed a fistful of the hitter's long hair and smashed his head into the wall. Eliot's resistance was slowed and his eyes seemed a little clouded. He still feebly fought them as he was pulled over to the door, dragging his heels, but they shoved him out of the cell and locked the door.

Nate could hear him still struggling. It sounded like he was negotiating, even begging, in Arabic, but he was silenced with a slap. Then, a cell door shut far down the corridor.

The mastermind puzzled over all of this. It seemed to be late in the night. This was not a normal interrogation, by the way these guys usually operated. These two weren't operating on orders.

Nate really hoped he was wrong about what they wanted.

Eliot was dragged back only a little while later, gone no more than half an hour. He was just thrown onto the cell floor. The guards closed the door and left without more than a comment to the shivering form on the floor.

Nate called out to him quietly once the men were far gone, but it didn't matter. Eliot had already passed out.

Eliot had nightmares again. Mostly he just jerked or gasped lightly, but sometimes he whimpered. He woke up a few times, if he moved and hurt himself; Nate could tell because he breathed quicker, tried to move his arms, and then remembered that he was alone.

Well, Nate was there, but he couldn't do anything to help, so he just stayed quiet.

One time, a few hours after he was thrown back into the cell, Eliot had his worst dream yet. He just shook. In the faint light from under the door, Nate could see him. He was tense, shaking, and his mouth was stretched open in a silent scream. Sweat dripped from his clammy skin. Then, a tear rolled down his cheek. Another was caught in the crook of his nose. Suddenly, he jolted and awoke with a sharp gasp. The hitter pushed his bare heels into the concrete floor to shove himself back until he hit the wall opposite the door. He looked around in panic, unable to see in the dark despite the slight light from the corridor. He asked something in Arabic, so softly.

Nate just watched.

Eliot asked again.

"Eliot, it's okay. You had a nightmare."

The hitter jerked and looked in his direction.

"Nate?" His voice was small.

"Yeah?"

"Are we alone?"

"Yes."

Eliot seemed to relax a bit. "You should sleep," he said. "I can't, so I'll keep an eye out."

"Thanks." Nate didn't know what else to say.

He was asleep before he knew it.

Nate woke when he heard yelling. He hadn't heard the door open, but there were several men beating his cellmate. Eliot was trying to tell them something, but they yelled over him. He refused to cry out under the heavy boots and fists. Eventually, he was dragged up to his knees in the center of the room, facing Nate. One of his captors was handed a whip and he yelled something at Eliot before he raised it.

The hitter spat out a mouthful of blood before saying to Nate, "He says that this is a lesson of what happens when you try to escape." He lowered his head before the first crack of the whip.

Nate blanched. Eliot hadn't tried to escape!

Eliot bit his lip to keep from crying out. It worked for about a dozen lashes. On wrapped over his shoulder, though, and he wasn't ready for that. He couldn't hold back a choked cry. The men laughed, and he knew they wouldn't stop until he'd earned it. They wanted him to beg. He wouldn't.

After several more, he couldn't swallow another cry. The man with the whip was enraged at his stubborn resistance, so he began to bring the biting leather down with as much speed and strength as he could.

Eliot screamed.

Blood splattered with the nest vicious lash, and he screamed again.

The man whipping him continued, yelling. Eliot responded with a choked word, shaking his head. The man demanded the same thing, and Eliot denied him again.

The next onslaught of lashes was so brutal, each scream torn from the hitter was cut off by the next.

Finally, he yelled something in Arabic. The hits continued. He yelled it again, and again, until the ship stilled. He repeated it, quiet now. Then, whispered it. It slipped out on a heaved breath.

The guard, still holding the whip, gently dragged its bloody tails up the shredded back before him. Eliot whimpered.

The men laughed, then grabbed his arms and dragged him back to his chains opposite Nate. His arms were chained in front of him once again, his collar also chained to the wall. They left.

Eliot was still on his knees. He slumped forward and rested his forehead on the cool ground.

"You didn't try to escape."

The hitter chuckled darkly. Breathlessly. "Doesn't matter. I was out of my chains. That counts."

"It wasn't your fault." Nate was livid.

"They don't care."

Nate shook his head incredulously. "So, when you said the price to try something was too high..."

"All that, that was for some guard forgettin' ta lock me back up. When I try to get out, if I make it outta this room... different story."

"Did you know this would happen, last night?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I?"

Nate noticed the blood running down his back. "You could bleed out."

"They're comin' back."

"Why?"

"We gotta eat sometime."


	5. He's Coming

Eliot was right. Soon after, several men returned. One brought a plain sandwich to Nate, then joined the others around Eliot. They forced him to sit upright, then forced a funnel with a long tube down his throat. He choked, but the large tube was held there by the funnel at his mouth. They poured slop into the funnel and held his nose. Eliot tried to pull away, unable to breathe, but he was easily held in place. The man pouring the slop took his time. Eliot was choking on it, but soon there was no more and he was allowed to breathe.

They weren't quite done yet, though. Two bottles of water remained. One was tossed to Nate, who drank it quickly. The other was opened and poured down the funnel slowly as his air was cut off again. After thirty seconds, he began to buck again. The water couldn't run out soon enough.

When it had, the funnel and tube were removed. Eliot gasped and choked, hacking with a dry and sore throat. Nate's empty bottle was retrieved then his manacles unlocked. He rubbed his raw wrists before a small metal box was shoved into his hands. The Syrians left.

Nate opened the box. Inside was gauze, antibiotic ointment, a washcloth, and rubbing alcohol. Closing it again, he moved to stand.

"Careful," Eliot croaked in warning. "Ain't moved in a while, yer legs might give out."

"What do you suggest?" Nate huffed.

"Crawl if ya gotta."

Nate wasn't like his suit would make it much longer anyway; there was no need for pride.

Once he made it to the other side of the cell, Nate could much better see the state his teammate was in. He pulled out the medical supplies, not willing to waste any time. First, he opened the rubbing alcohol.

"You should face the wall," Nate suggested. Eliot slowly turned around, trying to avoid the worst of his injuries. He leaned his head against the wall.

"Okay, this is gonna hurt. You ready?"

Eliot gritted his teeth and nodded. Nate poured some of the alcohol over the badly torn skin, dabbing it with the washcloth. Eliot yelled. Nate poured it again, dabbing away the blood and ignoring the yelling. This continued until the bottle was half gone. Nate hesitated.

"'S it gone yet?" Eliot hissed.

"No," Nate answered.

"Might as well use it all, they'll take it back."

Nate nodded even though no one saw it. "Okay."

He poured it again several more times until it ran out. By then, Eliot's back did look better. Now, he tried to dry it with a dry corner of the cloth before he applied the antibiotic ointment.

"You gonna wrap it now?" The hitter asked.

"Yeah."

"Wrap it tight, got some ribs that need setting."

Nate made sure to wind the white cloth tightly around the hitter's torso. He felt the ribs shift, but Eliot just hissed in pain. When he was done, he wrapped the end around another piece to tie it off. Only a few thin lines of blood soaked through at the deepest gashes, so the gauze held well.

"Done."

"Put th' box by the door," Eliot replied, leaning back. While Nate did so, the hitter moved backwards gingerly to lean into the corner.

"I'm not done." Nate decided.

"What?"

The mastermind returned to him with the ointment. "Let me see your wrists."

Eliot held them out warily. Nate took them and shifted the the tight manacles carefully to apply the cream. Eliot's wrists were raw and bloody, torn into by the rough iron and bruised by rough hands. There were two scars there, from one very deep cut across both wrists. Someone else had either tried to make him bleed out, or cut off his hands. When the hitter saw him looking at them, he pulled away sharply, looking away.

"Can I see your neck?" Nate asked, moving on.

Eliot huffed in annoyance, but tilted his head back to bare his neck. Nate paused.

Eliot's throat was severely and heavily bruised. Fading, sickly yellow bruises were overlapped by livid purple and nearly black ones. This wasn't just from occasional strangulation. Someone choked, throttled him, cut off his voice and breathing. How much force did it take to leave marks like those?

Pushing past that, Nate tried to shift the collar a bit to access the skin beneath it. Eliot pulled away in pain, but moved back in a moment. Nate was more careful, just applying the cream to areas he could see. When he finished, he returned the bottle, then sat a few feet from his cellmate.

Eliot sighed. "The guards are on a cycle; someone's passing the door every hour. There's no set schedule to the sessions. They come in when they're told. Only during the day, though. Semi-routine interrogation in the day. They're not supposed to do anything at night, but you can't know where they'll be then. The shifts..." He continued to recall all he knew, which Nate took note of in his mind.

Hours later, Nate felt that he had the framework of a plan figured out. It was hardly up to his standards, but a place as rough as this bred a rough escape. It wouldn't be easy, and if he was honest with himself, it almost definitely wouldn't work...

And he had to keep in mind the repercussions for capture.

Nate noticed Eliot shaking his head slightly, so he stopped planning aloud. "What is it?"

"I hear Akbhan, he's coming."

"How do you know?"

"It's a very distinctive sound," The pale hitter muttered, staring at the door in tense anticipation.

Seconds later, a large man entered alone. He was tall and muscled, but he hardly looked clumsy; his movements were sure and graceful. He looked strong, and an aura of menace followed him. He had black hair swept to the side and strong features. One could peg him as Moreau's older brother.

And he was smiling.

"Ah, I've been waiting to meet my newest guest." He had an Arabic accent, but spoke English comfortably. "I'm sure Mr. Spencer here has made you feel welcome so far." He smiled warmly at Eliot, who quickly looked down.

Akbhan turned to Nate. "So, just tell me who you are and why you came here, and maybe I'll let you go."

"Name's Tom Baker. I wanted to meet with you about some business opportunities, seeing as Moreau's out of the picture."

Akbhan dropped the smile. "I don't like liars, Mr. Ford."

Nate dropped the act. He looked over at Eliot, who was staring at their host, shocked. The Syrian man smiled again and followed Nate's gaze, then strode over to the hitter in the far corner. Eliot looked startled as the man unlocked his chains and opened his manacles. He pulled the hitter to his feet. Akbhan turned toward Nate, holding Eliot to his chest in front of him. The Syrian wasn't too much taller, but he held an overwhelming physical advantage. He could easily hurt him in a second. He grabbed Eliot's right arm and pulled it up behind the shorter man's back, straining the shoulder. Eliot could do nothing but go up on his toes to try to ease the pressure. The arm was just pulled harder.

"Tell me what you came here for."

"Okay, so I lied about my name. I did mean what I said about business, though. You're a wealthy man with a lot of connections, and with the right invest-"

"Wrong again."

Eliot screamed as his shoulder popped out of its socket under Akbhan's strength.

"Would you like to try again?"

"Okay, OKAY!" Nate yelled before Eliot could be further hurt. "I cam for Eliot, I work with him and I wanted him back."

Akbhan pulled on the hitter's arm more, making him cry out.

"Stop, I told you the truth!" Nate bellowed.

The Syrian shrugged. "I want the truth the first time." He released Eliot's right arm, then pulled up his left, ready to dislocate it, too. "Were you executing this mission alone?"

"No. I had a partner, but she made it out." He only brought up Sophie, hoping that Parker hadn't been seen.

This time when Akbhan tore the shoulder from its socket with a twist, Eliot swallowed the scream and managed a low grunt instead. Displeased, the Syrian pulled it much father and twisted, which made the hitter scream over the sickening crunch.

"Wrong again. I know all about your team, Ford. You had more than one partner."

Eliot's knees buckled when his captor forced his arm up to its ultimate limit. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was struggling to remember to breathe.

"Really, Ford, you'd think that you'd be able to tell the truth to save your friend from more pain." He threw Eliot into the concrete wall, where his head cracked against it and he slid to the floor. The Syrian dragged him back toward Nate, face up, then grabbed hold of his right arm. "Excuse me while I set this for our friend." He planted the heel of his boot directly in the center of the dazed hitter's chest and pulled on the arm, pushing his foot down for leverage. Eliot screamed gutturally as his ribs were crushed and his shoulder was relocated. Akbhan did the same for the other arm, this time shifting his foot to break new ribs. Eliot screamed until he passed out seconds later.

"Oh, what a shame." He pouted. "You know, I wasn't done with him." Akbhan leaned down to do something to Eliot.

"Don't touch him!" Nate yelled. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Why, it was all you! You're the reason I had to do that to him. Now how will he fight back? What fun is that for me?" The Syrian conversed as he proceeded to kneel beside Eliot. He wrapped both hands around the unconscious man's neck. He didn't stir at first, but at the lack of oxygen, his body started twitching before his eyes shot open. Akbhan continued strangling him with overwhelming force. Eliot began to panic.

"You checked out on me, Spencer. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Eliot wasn't trying to buck, but his body spasmed. Akbhan took this and his silence as rebellion and leaned in. "Are you defying me?"

The hitter shook his head jerkily. His eyes were wide and a tint of blue touched his lips.

"Then what do you have to say?"

Eliot spluttered desperately, unable to breathe. "I-I-I-I... I-I'm..." His chest lurched, hands trembled. "S-s-s..." His vision was fading. "S-so-sorr-y-y."

Akbhan pulled his hands from Eliot's throat and stood again. Eliot heaved, sucking in as much air as he could hold, then did it again.

Now Nate knew where those bruises on his neck came from.

"So, Ford," The Syrian continued casually, planting his boot on Eliot's chest to keep him in place, "I have one last question for you. Was it worth it, to play your little tricks? To lie to me?"

"No," Nate answered truthfully.

Akbhan nodded. "That's what I thought." Flashing one last grin at the prisoner, he grabbed Eliot's wrists and dragged him back to his chains, ignoring his keens of pain. He chained the hitter and left in just as good a mood as he came with.

As soon as he was gone, Nate leaned forward. "Eliot?"

He didn't respond.

"Eliot, listen, I-"

"Don't," The hitter croaked. "Didn't matter what you said, he would'a done it all the same."

"But if I-"

"Stop." He sounded so weary. "Just, be careful. He's smart. Like Moreau. And he loves to come out on top, so don't get cocky."

"He's worse than Moreau."

"Depends on what you think is worse, funding warlords and killing families, or being a warlord and torturing your enemies."

"You still think Moreau's worse?" Nate asked skeptically.

"Damien made me a mercenary. What Akbhan made me... I won't have to live with it past this."

Not wanting to read into that, Nate began to drift off. Eliot followed suit.


	6. Anything

The next day, they were both awoken by four men coming in to take Eliot for a session. He didn't fight.

Again, Nate didn't see his return for hours. When he was dragged back in, he had rope burns on his arms and long, thick bruises everywhere from his sides to his stomach to his legs. He was chained up and they were left alone.

"Still workin' on that escape plan?" The hitter asked quietly.

"Yes, but I need a way out of the cuffs."

"Two guys are gonna come in here in a minute to unlock them so you can be interrogated. They don't carry weapons. Blitz 'em, get their keys. It'll line up well with the shift cycle. This is it."

Just as he said, two guards came in minutes later. They went to Nate and undid his cuffs. Once they were off, Nate grabbed one of the chains and used it to swing one of the heavy iron manacles into the first guard's head. The second yelled and grabbed the prisoner's arm, but Nate headbutted him so hard that in a second, both guards were out cold. He grabbed the keys off the second's belt and used them to unlock Eliot's manacles. He unchained the collar, but the collar itself would take too long to figure out, so it stayed on. Nate stood back.

"Can you stand?"

Eliot pushed his hands against the ground and then got his legs beneath him. Once he was on his feet, he winced and fell into the wall. Nate wrapped an arm around his back and helped his hobble to the door. When they got there, the mastermind leaned his cellmate up against the wall to reach out of the barred window in the door to reach the lock. He fumbled and nearly dropped the keys, but he got it. The door swung open and Nate helped Eliot as they quickly left the cell. Following the plan, Nate followed the corridor to the left and took the turns that would lead them to the exit. A few times they had to duck into an empty cell to hide from guards, but they weren't caught yet.

Then, coming around a corner, they ran into five guards.

"Nate, RUN!" Eliot snarled and shoved his teammate away. Nate was about to argue, but the hitter just glared at him. "I'll be right behind ya!" With that, Eliot began fighting. Nate knew that he couldn't afford to hesitate, so he ran.

Eliot landed some good hits, but five-on-one odds on a good day were a risk; in his condition, against five trained combatants?

He went down, hard.

Nate made it past the cells undetected, but then he had to act casual to get past the guards in the lobby, then outside. He ducked into an empty room, a closet maybe, and took some time to straighten out his suit and fix his hair. He swatted off the dirt and got into character. Then, he was striding down the hall and past the guards with a cool and collected nod.

Of course, they _were_ already distracted due to being berated by their superior, but the mastermind gave himself props anyway.

Once he was out, he walked to the nearest town and found a phone. Soon enough he was back with the team. On the way to meet them at an improvised safe house, he realized that Eliot hadn't intended to escape. The worn hitter must've known he couldn't. He'd played along to get Nate out of there, then sacrificed himself as cover for the escape.

The mastermind made a small nod to himself at the thought. He was going to return the favor.

Back in the cells, Eliot paid dearly for the escape of his cellmate.

After the long, long punishment which left him in all-consuming agony, he lay on the ground wincing at each involuntary movement. The door opened again. Whatever was coming, Eliot was sure his body would shut down for good soon.

He flinched when he saw Akbhan enter. He still hadn't personally punished the hitter for the escape.

But he wasn't alone. He was shoving someone in and then onto the floor: someone Eliot would have given anything to keep out of this place.

Parker.

She was dirty and scratched up from hiding for days. When she saw Eliot, though, she grinned.

"Sparky! We came to save you, but Nate blew it!" She pouted. "I really wanted to try and steal a retrieval specialist."

Akbhan grinned. "Yes, that would have been quite impressive. Of course, your dear hitter will never leave this place. I believe he knows that."

Eliot just watched Parker as she stood and scrunched her nose. She simply replied, "You're wrong. We're leaving."

"Is that so?" The Syrian was amused. "Take a look at him."

Parker looked over at Eliot. He looked small. Bloody. Scared.

"So? You'll look worse than that soon. You'll be dead."

Akbhan snarled and charged at her. She dodged, but he grabbed her wrist and slammed her into the wall feet from the hitter. Parker tried to twist free, which she could usually do, but he held on too tight.

"Little girl, you have _no idea_ what I can do." He leaned in and smelled her hair. "I will have you break beneath me."

"Get away from her, you bastard!" Eliot growled, trying to sit up against the wall.

"I believe I will have _her_ pay for that rebellion, Spencer," Akbhan said as he licked her cheek. She fought harder but was trapped. Akbhan pushed her harder into the wall and shoved a hand up her shirt. She yelled and tried to twist out of his grip, her blonde hair whipping back and forth as she tried to throw him.

"Don't touch her!" The hitter bellowed.

Akbhan then shoved his hand down her pants.

"STOP! Stop, please! I'll do anything!" Eliot pleaded desperately.

The Syrian stopped but didn't pull away. Parker was breathing harshly.

"I'll do anything, just leave her alone."

Akbhan stepped away from her. "Really?" He said intrigued. Eliot nodded. The Syrian shrugged, then pulled Parker over to the other wall and locked her in the other set of chains. Then, he strode over to the hitter and pulled him up onto his knees by a fistful of long hair.

"You'll take her place?" He demanded, using his grip to force Eliot's head back.

"Yes," The hitter answered.

"I don't know…" Akbhan teased.

"Please," Eliot begged. "Please, take me. I'll…" He struggled to ask for this. "I'll be better than her… I know what you like."

The Syrian smirked. "Yes, you do. Very well. I can never deny you, my little whore." He unchained the hitter, who looked sick.

"Stop it, what are you-" Parker cried out when she saw Akbhan drag Eliot away and out of the cell.

"I'm just taking what is mine," Akbhan replied in a sing-song voice.

Before they were gone, Eliot met her confused stare with sad eyes and a smile. "Don' worry, darlin', I'll be fine." Then they were gone.

Parker had nothing on or near her to pick the locks with - that bastard had swept her for pick-locking kits before bringing her in here - so she could only wait. She was alone for over an hour before Eliot was brought back. Akbhan dragged him in by his arms, chained him to the wall, then knelt beside him. The Syrian ran a hand through the hitter's sweat-matted hair, petting him. Eliot tensed and closed his eyes.

"Well done, pet." Then he said something in Arabic that made Eliot pale and look up at him. Akbhan slapped him, grabbed his chin, and spoke the same command in Arabic.

"Th-thank you."

The Syrian smiled and stood. "You're quite welcome." Then, he left. Eliot turned his head so his face was against the floor, and inhaled shakily.

"Eliot?" Parker asked in a small voice.

"Tell me they left you alone."

"What?"

"No one touched you?"

She shook her head. "I was alone."

He nodded, content.

"Well, mostly alone."

Eliot's eyes shot open and he waited for an explanation.

Parker grinned and pulled a comm from her ear.

Eliot genuinely smiled for the first time in seven months.


End file.
